


Belief is a Two Way Street

by Pip



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Letters, M/M, Rated for vague sexual reference, Self-Worth Issues, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pip/pseuds/Pip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire doesn't believe in much and doubts everything. Enjolras is the exception, almost flawless in his eyes, but when it comes to himself he is unforgiving. Enjolras sees this but fails in his attempts to convince R of his worth. A man of words, he writes a letter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belief is a Two Way Street

_Grantaire worshipped Enjolras. That much was evident to most who knew them. Since Grantaire had first humoured Jehan and finally attended one of ‘Les Amis de l’ABC’s’ meetings, mostly on the promise of a few drinks on him, the cynical artist had been enraptured by the impassioned leader of the group. He’d revelled in antagonising Enjolras, driving the other student onto a table by the end of the evening, railing at his political and philosophical criticisms. The energy, drive and fervent belief of the gleamingly bright, eternally burning blond man struck Grantaire to the core._

_Grantaire was so small, with so little conviction, brushing off his own sarcasm and snide remarks with self-deprecation even after succeeding in launching Enjolras into heated counter-debate. He was nothing and Enjolras- Enjolras was bright as the sun- Apollo, golden and blinding; face and carriage as much heir to Helen as Adonis; passion of the warlike Achilles...Grantaire was full of such comparisons._

_And then somehow, Grantaire- the drunk, the talentless artists, the nothing- Grantaire of all people ended up with this god among men before him, holding him, sharing not only his bed but his life, even his heart. It took Grantaire a long time to trust this was not some cosmic trick, to believe this reality._

_Enjolras was tentative; this was new, uncharted land for him. But he tried to convince Grantaire he was here, in the flesh, and that the artist deserved him despite his protests to the contrary. It hurt to see the constant self-doubt on Grantaire’s face, to see that he didn’t think he would ever be good enough. He, who wove fantastical, political images both in words and pigments on his canvases, never listened to Enjolras’ word on this. Enjolras who was not a poet, not an artist. A speaker, yes, certainly. He could turn a good phrase, speak was clarity and conviction…at least normally. Here, unsure, ill-equipped he stumbled._

_On paper, perhaps, he could be clearer:_

 

R,

I know you think the world of me. That, itself, is touching. You have no idea how amazing it is to have someone who, despite everything, believes in me. But often it feels like you are always behind me, supporting me, when I want you beside me. I am human. I am flawed. One great challenge for me is figuring out how in the hell to navigate emotions. I’m trying, but sometimes I make mistakes. But you seem to refuse to see that because you are constantly looking at your own perceived imperfections. You don’t see so many of the things in you which I do. There are so many things I love about you any attempt to compile a full list is utterly futile. But I’m trying, so here are a few:

 

-You make beautiful things. I can hear you denying it already, but stop it; you are incredibly talented and your art leaves me in awe of you every time I get a glimpse of it.

-The way you look when you’re painting or sketching. The only thing more awe-inspiring than the work itself is the rare occasion I get to see you creating it; you get this focused glint in your eyes and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever known.

-Your eyes in general. They light up when you laugh or smile and looking across a room to see them fixed on me, soft and warm, is more reassuring than I think I can ever make you understand.

-That you made me tea before even asking what was wrong when I knocked on your door at 3am. You don’t push me and you care so inconceivably much; it makes me feel safe.

-Your hair is amazing. I am being utterly serious, it is; the way it feels and smells and mops in that utterly uncontrollable way around your cheeks and falls into your eyes and the way you pin it up when you get annoyed with that: it’s wonderful.

-Your hands. They’re just brilliant: callouses and scars and paint-stains and the way they don’t seem to fit to me but so wonderfully do. Sometimes the way your hands fit the curve of my spine is enough to break me in the best of all possible ways.

-You can pull me apart and put me back together better than I went into it. (And here I’m absolutely terrible at expressing the interlocking of emotional and physical _things)._ But _God_ do you make me feel amazing. And I know I don’t exactly have a vast pool of reference, but that’s also part of the point because you’re one of the only people I’ve ever actually been at all interested in _that way,_ and the only one to not think I’m a freak or a fool when I explained that. 

-You keep me sane. Sometimes I want nothing more than to punch you when you cut in to me with some snide cynicism; but that always fades after the moment and I realise that you are the one keeping me grounded in debates, stopping me from burning up and burning out.

-The fact you are _there_. Whether it’s in a crowd at a protest, the doodles on the receipts and post-its stuck to the fridge, a text at 2am, sleeping next to me: being with me to remind me I’m more than just exams and speeches and rallies. I’m not alone. We both have so many friends who remind me of that too, yet it’s still so easy to push that down in my constant occupation and forget I’m not a one-man-army; but you are something else altogether and bring me back to myself again.

-You. I really, sincerely need you to believe this. I love that you are you, R. I love you. I love you even when you don’t believe it’s possible. I love you even when you doubt everything about yourself. I love you, so when I see you hating yourself it hurts me, but I don’t stop loving you.

 

You believe so much in me that it almost terrifies me. I’m human, R. There’s so much I’m not capable of, so much I can get wrong. I’m terrified I could break your faith. I want to be worthy of you and I worry so much I won’t be. You’re scared and doubtful and I understand. But I need you to believe in yourself. It’s hard, but having someone beside you who believes in you supporting you helps. I believe in you Grantaire.

I love you,

E.

**Author's Note:**

> My first published work in this fandom. I wrote this in a day to distract me from the usual crushing angst of the many other unending projects I have in the works.  
> In Enjolras' letter, I tried to write in a style more akin to speech writing than something written with reader in mind, as he is much more used to writing for delivery to listeners with passionate tones from table tops. As such, the structure is a tad jarred and uses a lot of repetition. Also I made myself blush picturing Enj's face as he made awkward attempts at writing about their sex life. The poor thing...  
> As a side note, I generally write Enjolras as demisexual and demiromantic, with little-to-no relationship/sexual experience, which I allude to here.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Comments make me smile even more than Enjolras fumbling trying to convince his boyfriend he is fantastic.


End file.
